


Trappings of the Devil

by prowlish (valkyrie_fe)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkyrie_fe/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe always insisted on throwing "victory parties" after many of their successful battles or missions. And like clockwork, Prowl knew when to stop in and pull the plug. A mere whim had brought the tactician to the rec room early...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trappings of the Devil

Without a doubt, Prowl was sure that That Incident was Sideswipe's latest idea of a run of mischief. A stunt with the rather successful purpose of having the tactician distracted for an orn or two over, disrupting his work as he pondered over just what Sideswipe had hoped to accomplish. The result of too much high grade and a dare, no doubt. The Lamborghini had very certainly been  _acting_  intoxicated, though with Sideswipe it was hard to tell sometimes.

Especially when the crimson frontliner was egged on by a group consisting of a few very tipsy mechs, including a cheery Jazz and a guffawing Blaster. Yes, he recollected  _that_  well enough.

Sideswipe always insisted on throwing "victory parties" after many of their successful battles or missions. And like clockwork, Prowl knew when to stop in and pull the plug on the festivities before they turned south as they had often before. Three cycles, give or take a breem, and half the attending crew would be passed out, or most of the way there.

The tactician rolled his stylus between his fingers, processors rolling back to that night despite his best efforts. A mere whim had brought the tactician to the rec room in only half that time, and Prowl was greeted with a livelier albeit  _louder_  spectacle. Loud music pounded through the rec room, and he knew if he stayed too long that his processors would begin a dull throb in sync with the bass; his doorwings already twitched from the vibrations.

Blaster and Jazz seemed to be dueling at the turntable - Primus knows where they got  _that_ , presumably the same place Sideswipe had procured a karaoke machine - and having a jokingly heated debate. Sideswipe himself was standing near them, observing this with an amused grin on his face and a nearly full cube clasped in his hand. At the flicker of several heads in Prowl's direction, though, Sideswipe looked up and caught sight of the Datsun.

Head tilted in a curious way, he elbowed Jazz and said something to them. Jazz broke away from his debate with Blaster to look near the rec room doors and spot Prowl as well, and by that diversion, so did Blaster. The three shared a quick exchange, no doubt wondering why the tactician had arrived already.

The loud sounds of a chair clattering to the floor and shouting voices broke Prowl's concentration and drew his gaze. Cliffjumper and Windcharger appeared to be having an impassioned debate over Primus knows what; Cliffjumper had lept to his feet with his shouting and cursing, causing his chair to topple over. The tactician was three solid steps on his way to the commotion, but paused when he saw Trailbreaker push himself into the exchange, exerting a calming - or at least distracting - presence and seemingly neutralizing the situation.

A flail of red plating caught his attention, and Prowl found himself once more gazing at Blaster (who had thrown his arm in the air), Sideswipe, and Jazz. The trio was in a spirited discussion, one which was apparently amusing Jazz more and more by the minute. The Porsche eventually slapped Sideswipe on the shoulder, visor glinting as he grinned. Shaking his head, the red twin took a swig of the cube he was holding before holding it out and almost delicately dropping it into Jazz's open palm.

Sideswipe made a beeline right for him, sauntering in the way that said he positively was up to no good. Prowl waited, an optic ridge quirking, folding his arms beneath his bumper.

Sideswipe grinned. "Early, aren't you?" he said, optics glittering. "We're being good, I promise. ...Mostly."

The Datsun resisted the urge to roll his optics. "Of that I am extremely doubtful," he replied. "I am here so that things don't get  _too_  out of hand, naturally." It was close to the truth, he supposed; there wasn't any reason he'd come down "early," so to speak.

"Well, I'd hate to see us shut down a cycle and a half before 'schedule'," the Lamborghini snickered. Obviously the idea that Prowl had even his parties timed on a schedule was too amusing for the younger mech.

That optic ridge arched again. "Whoever said I was 'shutting you down'?" he asked mildly.

Sideswipe shrugged broad shoulders. "Not in those words exactly... but I was sent over to see if I could get a little  _insurance_  that it wouldn't happen."

"Oh? Is my word not good enough-" Prowl didn't get to finish that sentence, however; optics aglow, Sideswipe interrupted him by sneakily curling an arm around the tactician's waist, tugging him close. "Sideswipe,  _what_ -" But that too was interrupted, this time by the frontliner pressing their lips together in a sound kiss.

Truthfully, Prowl had been far too astonished to do much of anything. Thinking back, he thought perhaps he'd heard a whoop or a catcall - undoubtedly from Jazz - but he couldn't be certain of much, except for the peculiar sense that despite the party and all appearances, Sideswipe didn't really  _taste_  like high grade.

As though he had expected immediate retribution, the frontliner had given him a roguish grin before he beat a quick retreat to the ridiculously delighted looking duo of Blaster and Jazz.

And that had seemed to be it, though Prowl did find himself staying at the party until he did find it fit to call the thing to an end. The tactician chalked it up to overactive processors imagining that Sideswipe's optics kept slipping back to him.

Biting his lip, the Datsun sighed, rubbing at the side of his helm. Yes, no doubt the devious Lamborghini had intended nothing else other than to disrupt any stable, static thing and keep his processors focusing on his little stunt rather than the work he was  _supposed_  to be doing. Prowl stared down at the datapad in his hand. He'd barely paid attention to it for the past breem.

Primus-damned Lamborghinis. Shaking his head, Prowl re-clasped his grip upon the stylus in his hand, scribbling a minute note upon the datapad. Yes, of course Sideswipe was just being mischievous and disruptive, as normal. He hadn't  _meant_  anything by it.

Though, what if he had?

 _That_  thought derailed his focus on the report before him once more, though he nearly laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. Still... What if it  _hadn't_  been his imagination that Sideswipe's gaze had continued to linger on him after That Incident, which could only be called bizarre in the best of terms? Hmm.

His processors drifted back to the moment; one strong arm wrapped firmly around him, the larger frame putting out a low heat that washed over his plating, soft lips pressing against his own, and the taste that wasn't of high grade, really, but some flavor that must have been the Lamborghini's own. It wasn't a  _bad_  kiss, really; certainly there was no doubt as to some of Sideswipe's popularity.

Prowl's doorwings flickered and he forcefully brought his processors back to the present. No, he was surely reading too much into it. Sideswipe thrived upon causing chaos, and the tactician was his favorite target, it seemed.

He returned to his work, processors idly calculating the probability of the red-plated demon causing a ruckus within the orn.


End file.
